


Over the Top

by ingridmatthews



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/pseuds/ingridmatthews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary thinks she might be crossing a line ... or ten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Top

The first time Mary thinks she might be going a little over the line is when she holds Eddie's hand and tickles the inside of his palm while the camera flashes are clicking.

Eddie doesn't stop smiling for the reporters, doesn't let go of her hand either and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking even when the tickle turns into slow circles, her freshly manicured nails slipping over the hard, calloused skin. It's probably the rudest thing she's ever done, definitely the dumbest, but she can't stop because it's exciting in its sheer stupidity and a part of Mary's heart is forever eighteen.

Later, when the photo op is over and the complimentary drinks are flowing, he gives her a craggy smile. "Having fun?" he rasps and she can feel her own smile bloom.

"More than I thought." She sips at the flat club soda, bitter with lime. "How about you?"

"It's been interesting."

His eyes meet hers, serious and searching. Something between them clicks like a pair of magnets meeting and oh shit, Mary thinks, this is it. This is where she ends up being sorry and not sorry at all and oh, what a price she'll pay for not noticing this is where they've been heading all along, since the first day they read together.

Damn it, how could she not have seen this? Because there's blind and then there's _blind._

Eddie seems to realize it as well, cutting to the chase with refreshing directness. "Are you busy after this?" His voice is so very warm. "I'm not."

Maybe it's the room that's warm. Because the blood thrumming through the veins in Mary's throat _burns_. "What a coincidence, neither am I." Another sip of the soda, which doesn't help at all. "A drink upstairs, maybe?"

There's a few seconds of silence, followed by Eddie's short, wry laughter. He leans in to whisper in her ear. "I have a lot of plans. For you. For us."

Mary raises the glass to her mouth, but doesn't drink. Her smile behind the rim is for him alone. "I like a man with a plan," she says, swearing inwardly that this is only for one night. Tonight, nothing more. "See you upstairs in an hour."

An hour that feels like a year and she _swears_ it's only this one time, one night. When they finally make it into the room there's no childish fumbling, no more tickling words or fingers, just him and his gloriously worn hands stripping her jacket from her shoulders.

Her mouth licks hungrily into his and he responds with messy passion, lifting her easily onto the bed, onto her back and writhing beneath him.

The rest of the clothing comes off eventually, with some difficulty, but soon they are no more than a tangle of limbs and sticky-slick skin atop a hotel bed and its scratchy comforter, pillows long fallen to the floor. Sweat clings to Mary's upper lip as he pulls away and looks down, slowly accessing her flushed body, one hand between his legs, the fingers of his other hand expertly working their way in and out of her.

"Gorgeous," he rumbles and she's going to squeak like a teenager, her hips snapping up to meet his hand. "You are amazing."

She figures it would be rude to tell him to shut up and fuck her already, but it's so strange how he seems to read her mind, taking his hand away and pulling her up by her legs until she's nestled flush against him, his cock buried deep inside. They both get loud after that and Mary's too hot to care if someone can hear her screams, shrieking as she comes, arching into him, hard enough to hurt.

Eddie's still going, nipping at her shoulder until he comes, murmuring her name. A moment later he slides out, wincing wryly at her. "I think I pulled my back."

She blinks at him. Tries so very hard not to laugh and fails miserably. He joins in, both of them on their backs, staring at the ceiling and shaking with laughter. It's ridiculous and hot and Mary is very sure she's going to break her 'one night' rule already, even though she knows that playing with this kind of fire isn't for respectable women of her age.

Respectable _married_ women. With respectable married men.

"We're pretty much fucked, aren't we?" he asks later, when the laughter is over and his back is recovered enough to let him lie on his side, head resting on his hand.

"Let's not make any predictions." Surprisingly, she doesn't have the urge to kick herself for doing something so incredibly stupid. Very strange, and Mary wonders if the guilt will sneak its way in later, at a much more inconvenient time, because guilt has a habit of doing that. It's what anti-depressants were created for.

"Of course. You're right." Reaching out, Eddie gently brushes sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. "No predictions."

Actually, she can make a couple of predictions, but those include a pair of spouses who aren't going to be understanding _at all_ and god knows, she couldn't blame them. "I think we should start drinking now," she says, rolling over to pull up the unopened bottle of champagne from the floor where they'd dropped it at some point on the way to the bed. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," he says, rising and her mouth turns a little dry at the muscular outline of his body. He crouches in front of the mini-bar, squinting at its shelves. "Glasses?"

"Yes, please. Unless you want slug it straight from the bottle."

The champagne is opened with a thick 'pop' and she fills a glass for each of them. "To stupidity," she toasts gaily, clicking their glasses together.

Eyes averted, he chuckles. "To exuberance," he counters sincerely. "May you always have enough for ten women. And men."

She laughs into her champagne, which is warm, but at least it's fresh. There are many lines she'll cross, but drinking flat champagne is just a _crime_.

Eddie's smile fades a little, but he drinks along with her. Quiet fills the room and Mary suddenly finds herself wondering why his hands are so rough and how that could possibly make his touch just that much better.

It's a question that might keep her awake for many more nights to come.

~*~

The next time they cross that line, it's all Eddie's fault, but Mary's willing to share the blame, even if her skirt gets ripped and one ratty slipper goes flying somewhere unknown.

"I think we need to call this something other than 'exuberance'," she says, gasping for breath against his shoulder.

"We can call it whatever you like," he replies, still kissing her as if he's unable to stop.

"How about going over the top? Way over the top?"

His silence is his agreement and she opens up to him again just hours later, thinking that she must have been a fool not to see how inevitable this is. How inevitable it always was; over the top inevitable, really.

~*~  
end


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